


A European Semiparasitic Green Shrub

by Cicerothewriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mycroft is a Softie, Not Canon Compliant, Secret Relationship, background Johnlock, established relationships - Freeform, obligatory christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 15:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicerothewriter/pseuds/Cicerothewriter
Summary: Mycroft and Greg are finally together, but Mycroft is reluctant to tell his brother.  In the meantime, Sherlock has decorated 221b with mistletoe in preparation for the annual Christmas party.  How will Mycroft make it through the evening without telling off everyone who kisses Greg or strangling Sherlock?





	A European Semiparasitic Green Shrub

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for a few weeks. I hope you enjoy it!

Mornings were in many ways the best time of the day, especially mornings when he woke beside Greg, warm and content, while the cold weather surrounded them. He snuggled close to Greg’s back, and let himself enjoy the moment. Soon he would have to rise, but for now there was Greg.

Greg slowly woke, smiling as he heard the gentle inhalations behind him. He turned over, careful not to let in the cold. Mycroft looked soft, so beautiful, and Greg was grateful that he got to see Mycroft like this.

Mycroft smiled back, taking in Greg’s mussed hair and sleepy eyes. He had imagined what this might feel like, and reality was so much more satisfying than fantasy.

“Good morning,” Mycroft said, leaning forward to kiss Greg gently.

“Good morning to you.” Greg snuggled a bit closer, raising his arms to embrace Mycroft. “Breakfast?” he asked. When he stayed the night at Mycroft’s, he always took advantage of the kitchen. He regarded it as one of his duties to keep Mycroft fed and happy.

Mycroft hummed his approval. He had upped his treadmill schedule, although not as much as he had expected. Regular sex seemed to take care of his caloric excesses. Plus, he loved sitting down to breakfast with Greg. They ate, read the paper, and relaxed before getting ready for work. They shared their plans for the day (when Mycroft could), and if they were not already supposed to meet later, they made plans. They never left each other without a tentative date and time. Mycroft found himself growing anxious if he did not have the confirmation that they would meet soon.

Despite the agreement about breakfast, neither of them moved. Mycroft kissed at Greg’s throat, and said, “We shall have to schedule some time together… perhaps around New Year’s.”

“Some quality bedtime,” Greg said, body reacting enthusiastically to the idea of spending time together. “Quality couch time, kitchen time, desk time, shower time…”

Mycroft laughed. “I like the way you think,” he whispered in Greg’s ear. “We shall stock up, lots of food, lube, a few toys.”

Greg giggled, biting his lip as he made mental plans. “I can’t imagine any place I’d rather be.”

 

“We do have Sherlock and John’s Christmas party to attend,” Greg said as he watched the eggs poach.

Mycroft was uncertain what magic Greg used to poach eggs so perfectly, but he was a master at it. “Yes, I had hoped to get out of it this year, but you will make me go, won’t you?”

“Absolutely. It’s where I spilled champagne on myself, and you offered to help me so that you could feel me up. And when I called you out on it, you ran.”

Mycroft cringed. "I genuinely wished to help you."

"To be fair, that erection you were sporting helped me out eventually once I tracked you down.

Mycroft sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I panicked. I thought I had ruined everything."

"You didn't, love," Greg said, kissing the top of Mycroft's head gently before putting down his plate of poached eggs, fruit, and toast.

"I'm still not sure how Sherlock didn't figure out then and there what was happening. You're sure he doesn't know about us?" Greg sat down with his plate, and they began to eat.

"I'm sure, or else he would have said something by now. Something caustic and awful."

"We'll have to tell him before too much longer." Greg frowned slightly, and said, "Unless you don't want anyone to know."

"Greg, no," Mycroft said, reaching out a hand to take Greg's. Even six months ago, this would have been a rare gesture for him. "I want to tell the world. I, I suppose, I'm just nervous. My brother has always been scornful of my emotions."

Greg was well aware that this was not the only reason, but as long as Mycroft loved him and was not ashamed, he could weather any mental conundrums Mycroft had to work through before they became an 'official' couple. After that, Greg would broach the subject of them moving in together.

"I don't like he'll be that bad, but I'll follow your lead, love."

"I shall give it some more thought," Mycroft said, squeezing Greg's hand one more time before letting go. "What is on your agenda for today?"

 

Summoned by a text, Mycroft arrived at 221b to find Sherlock on a ladder. He was hanging Christmas ornaments. "I hope you will receive a reward from John for participating in this monstrosity." Evergreen and tinsel covered every surface.

"I shall be rewarded greatly for my cooperation - unlike you." Sherlock stepped down to admire the greenery shot through with red and gold ribbons.

Mycroft gritted his teeth. Sherlock had always done this the few times he had procured a boyfriend. "That is five to your zero! As you are older than me and therefore closer to death, you are running out of time to even out the score." The temptation to parade his far superior boyfriend in front of his brother was both childish and intense.

Before he could say anything, he started when Mrs. Hudson stepped up beside him, kissed him on the cheek, and said, "Happy Christmas!" At his shocked look, she pointed upward and said, "Mistletoe."

Mycroft looked up, and saw the offending item. "Lovely," he said, frowning.

"I think so," Mrs. Hudson said. "It's going to look wonderful for the Christmas party. So many people to kiss."

Mycroft felt the unpleasant sensation in his stomach. He did not want random strangers touching and kissing him. How vile. No, he only wanted Greg's kisses and hugs.

"This excuse for unwelcome advances is in preparation for the Christmas party?"

"Poor prim and proper Mycroft," Sherlock said, tisking as he stepped down from the ladder. "You'll die an old maid at this rate."

"It's just a bit of fun," Mrs. Hudson said, giving Sherlock a look.

"You'll unclutch your pearls long enough to attend, won't you?" If Mycroft did not know better, he would say that Sherlock actually cared about his answer.

"I shall be here in my best chastity belt, brother dear," he replied, making a point to step out from under the offending mistletoe. "Shall this be the only spot over which the unchaste vegetation will hang?"

"Of course, not. That would take the fun out of the game." Sherlock tied a huge red bow, plumping the edges a bit before handing it to Mrs. Hudson.

Mycroft rolled his eyes again. "Are you inviting the usual guests to this 'fun'?"

"Yes; are you going to 'help' Lestrade with his trousers again this year, and then run away in a panic?"

Mrs. Hudson smirked. Mycroft gritted his teeth. "I told you that an unforeseen emergency arose-"

"Arose," Mrs. Hudson interrupted. Sherlock provided the air quotes.

Mycroft tried his best not to react, but he could feel his cheeks grow hot. "Then I shall see you Christmas evening," he said, voice crisp and cold as he could make it. Gathering his dignity around him, he spun on his heels, and immediately ran into John, coming up the stairs. They both glanced up, and then at each other. Without words, Mycroft tried his best to convey that if John tried to kiss him, he would make John the king of the smallest island that he could find in the middle of the Barents Sea, population 1. John made an 'after you' gesture, and Mycroft departed.

When Mycroft recounted the story later, Greg was both sympathetic and highly amused. At Mycroft's very passionate declaration that the only kisses he wanted were Greg's, Greg felt that this required an equally passionate response.

 

"Where did you drop my pants?" Greg asked, trying to dislodge his arms and legs from Mycroft's. He could hear the kitchen alarm ringing. What he had in the oven would not burn, but he was hungry and Mycroft would be, too. Mycroft hummed, body replete with satisfaction.

"Don't remember," Mycroft replied. "I was distracted." He licked a strip up Greg's chest, ending with a brief suck to his nipple.

Greg moaned. "If you want food, I need to find my pants. Nude cooking is not my favorite way to explain burns to A&E."

Mycroft sat up with Greg, arms around him. They looked about, and Greg spotted them near the door. "Up," he said, kissing Mycroft gently. "Food now, more sex later."

They found enough clothes to count as dressed, and Greg served out the lasagna with salad. Mycroft was amused that only underpants and a shirt were considered necessary for serving. He had found his trousers and buttoned his shirt, but left it untucked and his feet bare. He felt scandalous and deliriously happy. They sat close together at the table, breaking with every manner he had ever been taught or shown during his childhood. One should never eat dinner at the table without being fully dressed, hold hands across the dishes, or share a bite with your partner. And yet, Mycroft did, and gladly. His parents would call him corrupted; he would call himself loved.

"How do you want to deal with the Christmas party?" Greg asked, closing the dishwasher. After breakfast tomorrow, they would have enough dirty dishes to run a load.

"Seek and destroy is my first suggestion," Mycroft replied, dragging his attention from watching Greg's ass flex beneath the cloth. "Baring that, I shall avoid all manner of kissing plants until I can politely make my excuses and leave."

Greg felt sad at the thought. He would love to take advantage of the excuse to kiss Mycroft in front of others. He understood why Mycroft did not want to tell his brother about their relationship yet, but he had hoped that maybe this could prepare them both for when they did tell Sherlock or Sherlock discovered it for himself. "Not too soon, I hope?"

Mycroft smiled shyly at him, and his heart beat faster. "No, my dear. I enjoy watching you enjoy yourself. You are in your element at parties."

"Good." He reached for Mycroft's hand, and gently pulled Mycroft into his arms. He began a slow dance, and they automatically hummed at once, the song familiar to them both. "And after, we'll have our own party together."

"Delightful," Mycroft said.

 

Greg arrived first to perform an initial scout for the mistletoe and report back. He got kisses from Mrs. Hudson and Molly on his way to say hello to his hosts.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and said, "You're very cheerful this year."

"I'm cheerful every year," Greg replied.

"I disagree. Shall I explain why?"

"No."

"Sherlock, knock it off." John leaned up, and kissed Greg's cheek. "Mistletoe."

Greg's smile turned teasing. "Sherlock didn't kiss me, and I've been standing here with him the whole time." Sherlock leaned forward with a quick peck to his cheek, just in time for Mycroft to appear at the door.

"Uh oh," he heard John murmur.

"Brother," Mycroft said.

"Brother."

"Here is your Christmas present." Mycroft was clearly trying to set Sherlock on fire with his mind as he shoved the wrapped bottle into John's direction. John grabbed it before he let go.

"Mycroft, Happy Christmas! Come with me, and I'll get you a drink," Greg said, seeking to circumvent the argument before it could erupt. He led Mycroft toward the drinks table, and murmured, "Don't kill your brother, at least not in front of all these witnesses."

Mycroft glowered at him. "He was kissing you!" he hissed.

"Just on the cheek. I was standing under the mistletoe." Greg looked at Mycroft, then at Sherlock, who looked smug, and finally back at Mycroft. Something clicked in his brain. "Unless he did it deliberately to tease you." Mycroft's expression flattened, but not before he saw the embarrassment there. "Is Sherlock aware of your feelings for me?"

Mycroft looked down, hand squeezing the umbrella handle. "He has deduced them, yes."

"How long has he known?" That would explain a lot about Sherlock's behavior. Previous snide comments and snips back and forth slotted into place in Greg's memory, creating an updated story.

Mycroft hesitated, and Greg could see the color rise in his cheeks. "A while." Mycroft sighed. "A long while."

Mycroft had never made it explicit, but from the clues Greg supposed that Mycroft had been holding a torch for him since soon after they met. One of Greg's goals in life was to make Mycroft so comfortable with him that he could reveal this information willingly without fearing ridicule from Greg. Until then he could wait. Instead Greg murmured to him, "I can't wait to get you home tonight."

Mycroft blinked a few times, and then smiled softly. "Nor can I."

 

Mycroft could not wait for this stupid party to end. He had placed himself near the kitchen where no such mistletoe could be found. He watched while Greg worked the room, laughing and accepting kisses as he mistletoe made it appropriate. Mycroft did what he could to replicate his own suavity in social situations, but he was hampered by all the mistletoe and by his lack of comfort with Sherlock and John's friends.

He eventually retreated into the kitchen to get away from the noise. John was there, retrieving the next tray of hor d'oeurves from the oven. When he saw Mycroft, he motioned to the mistletoe on the ceiling. Mycroft nodded, and positioned himself safely away from it. John left with the food, and Greg entered a few minutes later.

"Doing okay?" Greg asked, coming closer, voice low.

Mycroft nodded. "Just a momentary break."

Greg smiled. "Shame we can't indulge in some mistletoe kissing while we are here."

"You do not require mistletoe to partake, Greg," Mycroft replied, although he felt keenly for a moment the wish to share his devotion to Greg with everyone he could find. Maybe next year he would suffer less from the fear that all of this would end and Greg would leave him.

They were standing in the area of the kitchen not visible to the sitting room.

"Just one mistletoe kiss?" Greg asked, stepping closer.

Mycroft would do anything – give anything – for this wonderful man. "Just one shan't hurt."

Greg took his unoccupied hand in both of his, and leaned forward for a gentle kiss. Mycroft abandoned his umbrella against the wall so that he could cup Greg's cheek, thumb stroking the stubble there. The kiss despite its clandestine nature soothed something that had been unsettled within Mycroft.

When Greg pulled back, Mycroft whispered, "I love you." At Greg's delighted look, eyes bright and smile perfect, he whispered it again. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Greg murmured, squeezing his hand. "Come back out when you are ready."

"I am ready." Mycroft retrieved his umbrella, and returned to the party with Greg at his side.

 

Greg was glad to see Mycroft loosen up a little after their interlude in the kitchen. He was an adorable man when he let others in, and Greg wanted others to see. He noted that Sherlock had stopped smirking so much, and he wondered what John had said to him to get him to stop.

Eventually others started to drift home or to other parties. Sherlock stepped next to him as he was gathering up glasses, and said softly, "I must admit that I failed to follow my own rule of seeing but not observing."

"How's that?" Greg said, pleasantly buzzed and eager to continue his night with Mycroft. Their own private party at home with nudity, soft cotton sheets, and no neighbors to hear them. Aside from the beautiful kitchen, the noise proof construction of the walls was another reason why he preferred Mycroft's flat.

Sherlock gave him a look of scorn. "Are you going to pretend?"

"Pretend?"

"You and my brother."

Greg's buzzed plans ground to a sharp halt. "What about me and your brother?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "My observations have led me to deduce that you are involved in a relationship with my brother." Before Greg could offer a denial, Sherlock waved that away, and said, "Observations of snogging in my own kitchen to be precise, Lestrade."

Greg could not say much to that. "I'm not admitting anything, but I have to ask. You didn't know before tonight?"

"If I had, I would not have resorted to this ridiculous parasitic scheme." He waved his hand to indicate the mistletoe. "At least I shall set fire to it later as a test for some theories I have."

Greg connected the clues. Sherlock knew about Mycroft's long-term crush. Sherlock reminded Mycroft about last year's panic, and then placed mistletoe everywhere in the hopes that somehow this would get Mycroft to act.

Sherlock nodded, and said, "I had hoped this you – in your usual carefree manner – would make the first move this year, since obviously my brother is terrible at such things."

Greg grinned, remembering last year. "You soppy romantic bastard, you," Greg said, nudging a playful shoulder into Sherlock's. "You're a good brother." He watched in amusement at the pleased look on Sherlock's face, which he got whenever he received genuine praise from someone.

"Now, if you can just wait for Mycroft to admit it to you on this own, I would appreciate it."

"Not too much longer, I hope. John and I have already planned the congratulatory cake and gifts for you both."

Greg snorted. "I'll see what I can do."


End file.
